


Sounds About Right

by shaniacbergara



Series: Coffee, Wine, and Textbooks-Verse [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Jewish Character, Jewish Crowley (Good Omens), Jewish Good Omens (Good Omens), M/M, Sick Character, not serious though obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2020-12-28 13:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaniacbergara/pseuds/shaniacbergara
Summary: Aziraphale is sick, there are revelations.





	1. Bikur Cholim, And All That

It had been only a month or so since their engagement when it happened. The worst possible thing imaginable. The most terrible, the most horrific.

Aziraphale caught the flu. 

The moment he began feeling even the least bit under the weather he cancelled all of his classes. It was true, he’d take any opportunity to cancel class, but this was an emergency. Crowley, on the other hand, would teach even if it meant passing out mid-lecture. Crowley refused to let him isolate himself to the couch.

“No, angel, you’re staying in bed, it’s far more comfortable.” He insisted, shoving Aziraphale back onto the pillows as he attempted to get ready for class.

“But I’ll sick up the whole bed!” Aziraphale attempted. He sounded positively pathetic, and Crowley’s determination to go to class wavered a fraction. His resolve on Aziraphale’s locale did not, however.

“Absolute not, Zira.” He said, firmly. “I’m not afraid of any germs.” He kissed him gently to prove it, before setting about making him some tea. Aziraphale thanked him with a sniffle and a cough, before settling into the cushions.

“Go, you’ll be late.” He told his fiance, and Crowley grinned.

“I’m always late.” But Aziraphale was making a shoo-ing motion with his hand, so Crowley sauntered out of their room. 

Aziraphale spent the day reading, dozing off with a book on his chest only to wake up with a start. His fever held steady throughout the day. He hated to be sick, he felt absolutely dreadful, hovering somewhere between way-too-warm and freezing-cold. He yanked his covers to his chin before kicking them off again, and repeated this cycle ad infinitum. 

Crowley fretted his own day away. His students served as a distraction from worrying about Aziraphale. He was a grown man, Crowley knew, and could certainly take care of himself, but he wished he could be there with him. He imagined him, weak and pale, in bed. Aziraphale would laugh at him if he heard how his imagination had gotten the better of him, but Crowley didn’t care.

“So!” He exclaimed, taking the opportunity to lean into his lesson. “Someone give me a basic tenent of Judaism, any of them!” He loved lessons like this, he would show students how Jewish people throughout history managed to continue following the fundamentals of Judaism, often in the face of oppression. Hands went up immediately “Eli?”

“Visiting the sick?” He asked, and Crowley very nearly growled. 

“Let’s do another one.” He suggested, but from the looks on his students’ faces, he knew that wouldn’t fly. 

“Why?” Talia asked, her hand up but not waiting for Crowley to call on her. “Visiting and healing the sick IS a fundamental Jewish belief, why can’t we talk about it, Dr. Crowley?”  
“Is this because I told you your hair looked small last week?!” Eli demanded, his hand in the air and looking thoroughly worried. Crowley sighed. 

“Oi, no. You were wrong about my hair, but that’s not why.” He said, running a hand through said hair in order to make it even messier than it already was. His students looked at him expectantly. “If you must know, you nosy undergraduates, my fiance is sick in bed with the flu, and I’m trying to prevent myself from cancelling all of my classes to sit vigil at his bedside. Certainly don’t need you lot making me feel guilty by reminding me I’m not fulfilling a mitzvah today.” There was a bit of scattered laughter in the classroom before a hesitant silence fell again. 

“Well, alright then.” Eli said, his hand creeping into the air again. Crowley nodded in his direction. “How about repairing the world then?” 

They were off, after that, Crowley scribbling down examples of Tikkun Olam throughout history on the blackboard, his students frantically copying down everything in their notebooks. By the time they’d finished with their Joys and Oys, Crowley was feeling considerably more even-keeled. 

“Tell Dr. Will we said to feel better!” Talia said on her way out of the classroom.

“How do you know who my fiance is?!” Crowley demanded.

“You have literally brought him up every class, Dr. C. Find some chill.” She waved at him as she left, and Crowley shook his head. 

He packed up quickly and booked it to the Bentley as fast as he could. He broke several laws and possibly the sound barrier as the Bentley roared back to their little cottage, he made one stop on the way home, tearing through the grocery store and throwing the necessary ingredients into a shopping basket before returning to his mad dash home. 

He needn’t have rushed. When he arrived, Aziraphale was fast asleep in bed, surrounded by books, one leg out from under the covers, the other tucked safely beneath. Crowley kissed him on the forehead, feeling the heat of his fever. It was still high, Crowley hoped he’d been drinking fluids. All the same, some chicken soup would help.

He set about making it, tossing the ingredients into the largest pot imaginable. It was a hand me down from his mother, it had been her chicken soup pot, too. Most of the process of making chicken soup involved waiting and tasting, so he let the soup do what it was going to do and returned to Aziraphale. He gently sat on his side of the bed, picking up one of Aziraphale’s discarded books and beginning to read. Aziraphale shifted, and snuffled slightly when Crowley sat, but otherwise looked undisturbed.

Crowley had been reading for about ten minutes when it happened. Aziraphale usually talked in his sleep, strings of sentences about what he was working on, about Crowley, about his students. Sometimes just nonsense, but Aziraphale always spoke clearly, even in his sleep. This was no different, he snorted a bit, and Crowley looked over at him, watching his eyes fluttering beneath his eyelids. 

“Bachar banu micol ha-amim…” he shifted, sniffed, continued. “...oo et torahto, baruch…” He trailed off, but the words were unmistakable. Crowley looked at him, his eyes wide as dinner plates. Sure, Aziraphale accompanied him to services on Friday nights, but they didn’t read Torah during those services. The only time he’d heard those blessings before had been on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, there was no way he’d remember the exact wording. Unless…

Crowley’s frantic speculation was interrupted by the ding of the timer reminding him to check his broth for seasoning. He tore himself away from Aziraphale, resolving to ask him exactly what on earth that was all about the second he was over this terrible flu.


	2. Interrogate Your Students Instead Of Your Fiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been SO long in coming! I've had the busiest month holy cow. Come yell at me over @toby-zachary-ziegler on tumblr!!!

Aziraphale took two more days off of classes. Truth be told, Aziraphale felt much better the day following, after the Mystery of the Torah Blessings had taken root in Crowley’s mind, but Aziraphale wanted to take advantage of the fact that he could skip his classes and enjoy himself. He was exhausted, he always was following a cold or flu, and it felt good to take quite a bit of time, even if he was fully recovered. He ignored his students’ emails in favor of getting a good deal of reading done. He had to be clever though, Crowley was acting strangely, and he had to be careful about his book placement and the timing of his reading. He was lucky he’d had the wherewithal to hide his books for class in his bedside table before falling asleep that day, otherwise his cover would have been absolutely blown.

He left the house only when Crowley was totally certain that he was feeling up to it. He asked him repeatedly if he was alright. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it, angel?” Crowley asked him for the thousandth time, quirking an eyebrow at him. Aziraphale’s face softened.

“Yes, dear boy, I’m quite sure.” He did look better, his face had regained its rosiness, and his eyes were clear once again. Crowley had hated seeing Aziraphale sick, it did things to his fragile heart. Strange, nurturing, protective things. Not that that was out of the ordinary when it came to him and Aziraphale.

The drive to the university was quiet and speedy. Aziraphale hummed to himself, drumming his fingers on the Bentley’s soft leather seat. He glanced at Crowley, and found him grinding his teeth in the driver’s seat. In the light of the morning, Aziraphale saw tell-tale dark circles under his eyes. He frowned. 

“What is it?” He asked, as Crowley screeched his way into his parking spot. He looked over at him, brows furrowed. 

“Mm?” He got out of the car and rushed around to open Aziraphale’s door for him. Crowley couldn’t vocalize what was in his head. He was worried, worried about what he’d heard, worried about what it meant. He offered his hand to help Aziraphale out of the car, but Aziraphale turned it, kissing the inside of his wrist instead. Crowley whimpered. “Angel.” Aziraphale got out of the car, skimming a thumb along Crowley’s sharp cheekbone. 

“Anthony.” He led the way into the building, and Crowley followed, utterly helpless to do anything else. Aziraphale set his coffee to brew as Crowley berated his plants next door. They had a little extra time this morning, and Aziraphale was keen to get to the bottom of why Crowley hadn’t slept. Crowley was quite keen on getting to the bottom of the Torah Blessing Mystery. Neither of them had any clue where on earth to begin with their questioning. 

Crowley reemerged, looking determined. The flutter in his temple told Aziraphale that he was still clenching his teeth, He softened as Aziraphale allowed his fingers to drape over Crowley’s as he handed him his coffee mug. Crowley sat, draping one long thin leg over the arm of the chair. 

“Anthony-” Aziraphale began, just as Crowley was opening his mouth to speak. “Did you rest well last night?” He scrutinized him, eyes narrowed a bit. Crowley floundered.

“Course, I was right there next to you, wasn’t I?” He obfuscated, hopeful that Aziraphale would let it go. He didn’t, of course, but that was why Crowley loved him. 

“Are you sure, my dear?” Aziraphale reached across the desk, removing Crowley’s horn rimmed glasses and brushing the soft, tender skin beneath his eyes. The skin was bloomed with a dark purple shadow, and his eyes were rather puffy. Crowley, against his better judgement, leaned in to Aziraphale’s ministrations. 

“Well, I-I had something on my mind.” He admitted. Aziraphale sat back, pleased with himself. Crowley returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose, not wanting Aziraphale any blurrier.

“Anything you’d like to share?” Aziraphale asked, the picture of patience. He drummed his fingers on his desk, and Crowley admired the glint of his engagement band. He considered his words, but he was never any good at choosing the right ones, anyway.

“You know, angel.” He began, placing his hand flat on the desk. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and opened it once more. “You know, it’s really-” He trailed off. Aziraphale’s eyebrows were raised, blonde and bright on his forehead, creeping steadily closer to his hairline.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, dear boy. You’ll have to use your words to tell me.” He smirked, damn him. 

“Sometimes things are big decisions, Aziraphale.” He told him, looking serious. Aziraphale nodded, grinning. 

“I know that, my love.” Crowley blushed, but soldiered on. 

“And sometimes, things that are big decisions are made for poor reasons.” He said, gesturing wildly. Aziraphale reached across the table to snag the coffee cup from its precarious position. “Thank you.” Crowley said in passing before continuing. “And you’ve got to be certain about things, don’t you think?” Aziraphale pursed his lips.

“Are you feeling uncertain?” He asked, not worried, but desperate for Crowley to get to the heart of the matter already.

“Me?!” Crowley demanded. “Certainly not, don’t be absurd.”

“Yes, I am the one who’s being absurd, here.” Crowley stood, and Aziraphale followed suit. He was fairly bewildered. Crowley had been so gentle for days, but clearly something had been brewing. He wondered if he’d slept at all while Aziraphale had been ill. 

“I need to go.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to insist. Crowley sighed. 

“I love you, angel.” He told him, leaning across the table to kiss the crown of his head. “We’ll talk, let me find the words. At lunch, okay?” Aziraphale looked only momentarily taken aback, an expression which eased into a smile. 

“I love you, dearest.” He told him, fixing the lapel of Crowley’s jacket. “Thank you for asking for what you needed.” Crowley turned red, waved off the thanks with a careless hand, but couldn’t help feeling just a bit safer as he left for his first class.

When Crowley stood in front of his History of Judaism class, his lesson plan for the day flew out the window. He rocked on his heels as his students gazed at him, hands barely squeezed into his pants pockets. He took a deep breath, and threw propriety to the wind.

“Hypothetical scenario.” He told them, and they got their pens at the ready. He grinned. “In what situation would a goy have to know the Torah Blessings?” He put the question to them, and watched as their scholarly little brains considered the options. They looked at each other, then Neamah raised her hand. He pointed her out. 

“Conversion, Dr. Crowley.” She answered, and there was a general noise of consensus throughout the room. “Obviously.” He waved off the response like it was a particularly noisy fly.

“Besides that, that’s an impossibility in this situation.” He replied. 

“Why, sir?” Jason asked, his hand. 

“Because some things are impossible.” He replied. And he really should have known better, because nearly every hand in the room went up. He sighed. “Go ahead.”

“Sir, that’s not true, and it wouldn’t be very open minded to discount the possibility of conversion in any aspect. Conversion students can come from anywhere, and can have any past imaginable before choosing to convert.” Lena insisted, her nose wrinkling. Her mother, he’d learned, had converted after spending seven years teaching in a Catholic school. 

“Of course.” He responded, but that didn’t assuage them.

“And if a conversion student has learned the Torah blessings, that’s something that should be admired, not scrutinized!” Jason insisted.

“I know that!” He said, hopping up to sit on his desk. “I just wanted to know if there was any other reason you lot could think of, you geniuses, for why it might be so.” He held up his hands. “I think my record on conversion students is pretty good, I just wanted to double check.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Who’s the goy, Dr. Crowley?” Neamah said from the back, and wasn’t that just too brave. He sighed. 

“My fiance.” The room erupted into joyous laughs, exclamations, even some cheers. Crowley turned his gaze up to the ceiling, searching for an answer in the speckled tiles. He couldn’t find any. “Alright, alright!” He said, calling the class back to order. 

“Why are you so upset?!” Jason asked, grinning from ear to ear. “Dr. Will’s talked about going to shul with you before.” Jason was in one of Azirapale’s advanced literature classes. Crowley’s eyebrows shot upwards.

“He has?!” Aziraphale never told his students anything personal. Crowley was floored. Jason nodded. 

“He went on and on about the rabbi’s sermon, and how it connects to Shakespeare.” He said, pointedly. “Dr. Crowley-” He cut himself off. Crowley gestured for him to continue. “Well, it’s just-” He sighed. “Shouldn’t you be talking to Dr. Will about this?” 

“You co-eds and your street smarts.” He huffed, and his students laughed. He sighed again, making an effort to feel very put upon, but a certain gentleness took root in Crowley’s heart that he couldn’t quite get over. Was this possible? It was so...special, so personal, so raw. His pulse thrummed in his ears. He nodded at the class. “Quite right, I’ve wasted enough of your time this morning. We’ll talk about midterm essays and research presentations next week. For next class-research a famous Jewish convert and we’ll talk about the history of the conversion process. You know, to make up for today.” There were some giggles. “Get out of here, go play in traffic.” Crowley let them file out before shouldering his bag. He left the building at a run. As usual, his students were right. 

He needed to talk to Aziraphale.


	3. Free Will and Mozzarella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day? Aka I wrote two chapters in one go but couldn't wait to publish the second one.

Aziraphale can admit he’s preoccupied during his classes that morning. He’s worried for Crowley, not because he thinks it’s anything too terrible, or that it’ll be some major problem, but because he knows his fiance has a tendency to get wrapped up in worrying about things. Things that could have been a simple fix, Crowley ends up sweating over.  
Fiance. He repeats the word in his head, grinning to himself. He catches a student’s eye and lets his grin relax into a glare. He’s a little warm. The heat from his fever appeared to be lingering a bit, and the morning sun streaming through the windows made it difficult to concentrate on his lecture. He paused in his discussion of Macbeth to roll up his shirt sleeves. One of the sophomores in the front row squeaked, and he fixed her with an intense look. She sank into her chair, red as a tomato. 

“Now, Macbeth kills his king. Why? Because he was asked to, sure. He’s led to believe that that’s the thing to do, of course. But why else? Because it’s what he feels he needs to do. He is, in the end responsible for his own choices. Is it the right choice? That’s really entirely up to him, isn’t it?” It’s gotten to the point in the semester where his students know that the vast majority of his questions are rhetorical, and thank goodness. He can’t pause in his flow now that he’s gotten a rhythm going. “Free will is the crux of the entire play, isn’t it? Is Macbeth destined to be killed by Macduff? Maybe, but Macduff is the one who chooses to track him down and do the deed. The occult forces of destiny and magic versus the humanity of personal choice, it’s an interesting tension.” He trails off, checking his watch. “But more on that another time. You’re all to bring me five pages on the development of a character in Macbeth’s free will to be handed in next class. I expect nothing less than your best.” He turned away as they scuttled out. When he turned back around, his bag in hand, the little sophomore was in front of his desk. He sighed. “Yes?”

“Sorry, Dr. Will.” She said, and wasn’t that a bad start? “I just hope you’re feeling better, Dr. Crowley’s been going around campus looking a right mess.” His gaze softened, just a tiny amount.

“I am, thank you Sarah.” He said, and she glowed with satisfaction. He grinned, at least he’d gotten her name right. She turned tail and fled out of the room. 

Aziraphale made his leisurely way back up to his office. He stopped to pick up lunch, a sandwich (the shop around the corner made a beautiful prosciutto and mozzarella sandwich, but he’d recently made the switch to tomato and mozzarella instead). After a touch of hemming and hawing, he ordered Crowley an espresso, poor dear probably needed it after so many sleepless nights. 

By the time he reached his office, he was surprised to see Crowley already standing outside of his door. He grinned when he caught sight of his fiance, standing tall and lanky, his hair quite on end. He strode over to the door, stepping up onto tip toe to kiss him. Crowley generously obliged him. 

“Would you like to step inside, my love?” He asked, opening the door politely. Crowley nodded, chewing on the inside of his lip. Aziraphale followed him through the door, set the tiny cup in front of Crowley’s usual spot, and opened up the sandwich wrapping. “How were your classes?”

“Disastrous.” He said, distractedly. “Listen, angel-” he cut himself off, looking at the sandwich as if it was about to smack him. Aziraphale looked down, then back up at Crowley. “What is that?”

“Honestly, Crowley, I can be trusted to keep a sandwich down.” Aziraphale said, his mind still on his dreadful flu. He shuddered.

“No, angel. Where’s your prosciutto?” Aziraphale blushed, sputtered a bit. 

“I just-well I can’t mix things up?” He asked, and Crowley really wasn’t used to being the one catching Aziraphale off guard. 

“Historically, no.” He said, seriously, leaning forward in his chair. “What’s going on, Aziraphale?” He asked, running a hand over his face.

“You’re tired, love, drink your espresso.” Crowley fixed him with a withering look. “I was rather hoping you were going to tell me what was going on with you.” He reached across the table, hoping to take Crowley’s hand. Crowley hopped out of his chair and began to pace in front of Aziraphale’s desk. 

“Angel...Aziraphale…” He said, running a hand through his hair. Aziraphale stood, scooting his chair back with a light sigh.

“Anthony, honestly, what’s got you so nervous?” Crowley turned on his heel to face him. 

“Are you converting?” He asked, then winced. Aziraphale looked taken aback. 

“Have you been snooping, my love?” He asked, but good naturedly. Crowley looked shocked. 

“You are?!” He demanded, taking a step towards the desk. 

“Well, if you must know, yes, I’ve spoken to Rabbi Dov and we’re moving ahead with things.” He looked rather pleased with himself. “I suppose I must have been a bit lax about leaving my books about.” Crowley sat, his heart hammering. 

“No, no you certainly weren’t.” He informs him. “You were-in your sleep you did the Torah blessings.” He tells him, and Aziraphale grins, his cheeks glowing.

“Yes, I think I’ve got those down.” He admits, proudly. 

“Angel, why are you doing this?” Crowley asks, and winced again. That’s not really the right thing to ask. Aziraphale didn’t look put off. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, reaching across the table again. Crowley allowed Aziraphale to take one of his hands in both of his own.

“I just-what if this is too much, angel?” Crowley sighs. “I don’t want this to be a regret for you.” Aziraphale stands, never letting go of Crowley’s hands as he moved around the table. 

“This could never be a regret for me. I knew, the first time I went to shul with you, I knew this was the only thing for me.” He confessed, and reached out to tip Crowley’s chin, imploring him to look into his eyes. “I’ll confess, I was rather a bit wrapped up in loving how right you were for me, it took me a while to get around to the actual talking-to-the-rabbi bit. You’re rather distracting, my love.” Crowley’s cheek burned under Aziraphale’s fingers. 

“I’m-I’m sorry I got worried.” Crowley said, hoping it’ll compensate for the fretting.

“I love you.” Aziraphale responded, simply.

“I trust you.” Crowley replied, and Aziraphale’s heart soared as Crowley stood. “I’m so proud of you, Aziraphale. So happy for you, angel.” He did what his soul had been screaming at him to do since that spark of hope and gentleness had been ignited in his chest earlier that morning. He kissed his fiance, soundly. Aziraphale grinned into the kiss, twisting his hand into Crowley’s hair. 

“Thank you.” He replied, against his love’s lips, for the trust, for the pride, for the happiness. They were left unsaid but heard all the same. They broke apart, and Crowley’s hands shook with shock and glee and excitement. “It’ll be nice not to hide my study materials from you anymore, but you have to promise not to disagree with everything the authors say!” Crowley grinned, and Aziraphale knew a losing battle when he saw one. 

“Talk to me, angel, I want to hear everything. What have you learned?” He asked, grinning wider still.

“Well-as you’ve heard, I know- ‘barchu et adonai hamvorach’” Crowley grinned, but at Aziraphale’s expectant glance he responded.

“Oh, right,” he cleared his throat “‘baruch adonai hamvorach l’olam vaed.’” Aziraphale gave a pleased little wiggle and closed his eyes. Crowley thought he was bound to perish right then and there.

“‘Baruch adonai hamvorach l’olam vaed, baruch atah adonai, eloheinu melech haolam, asher bachar banu m’kol ha’amim, venatan lanu et torato, baruch atah adonai, noten hatorah.’” Aziraphale recited, and Crowley felt an overwhelming need to cancel his afternoon class, lock the door, and thoroughly ravish his fiance. 

“Amen.” He breathed, Aziraphale opened his eyes again. Crowley looked behind him to ensure the door was closed before hopping up onto Aziraphale’s desk and pulling his fiance close by the arms of his chair. 

“How did that sound?” Aziraphale asked, grinning knowingly. Crowley kissed him, pausing just long enough to murmur against his lips. 

“Yeah, angel, yeah, that sounds about right.”


End file.
